The Journey
by tkdkid91
Summary: Ten years has passed since the War between Dalmasca and Archadia. A man has searched long and hard for something precious to him, but met nothing at every turn. Could he have found a clue that could lead him to the end of his quest?
1. Prologue

Prologue: A Lost Age

Many view writing as simply a hobby, just a trivial thing which serves only to entertain. Many look down upon writers as people who got nowhere in life, because there is little money in store for those who choose to write for a living. So frequently do those people overlook the fact that writing has caused some of the most influential events in history; _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ was considered to be a cause of the Civil War. Thomas Paine's _Common Sense_ pamphlet shared his views of an American nation with the rest of the world. The Fireside poets created works that would transcend time and last even into the present age. Not only does writing allow a person to share his views and emotions with the rest of the world, but it gives us an outlet to escape our troubles and go into a completely different world.

There are countless volumes and books in this world which tell tales of valor and courage amidst countless odds, and of heroes who died defending their beliefs and loved ones. They are looked up to and revered; every "common" citizen wishes to be like these flawless beings. Often, it is those same people that we see every day - the face you see passing you on the street, or the one living next to you – that have the greatest impact on the world.

Each life is like a book, from the prologue of newborn life to the epilogue of death. When a new child is born, the blank pages of its life are ready to be written upon. Every choice, down to the tiniest things, shapes that story into a novel. Some books are open for all to see and read, while others are locked, which only a fortunate few obtain the key to open. The fringes of some books are laced with gold and silver, and have many pages and chapters, such as these people that we deem as heroes. It is so often, however, that though ornate, those books contain nothing but arrogant rambling. Why, then, is society so interested in reading them? Perhaps it is because they need a cause to believe in, or because they have nothing else in life but to look wistfully at what they could have been. Whatever the reason, there are far too many stories on the earth for one being alone to read in a single lifetime. One must choose his friends carefully, because the literature that he absorbs influences his own story more than maybe he realizes.

It seems that in the present age there is a great dearth of good literature; that is, a great shortage of men who have led truly remarkable lives, and whose story is worth reading by all. Some of those people who deserve to be called heroes are the ones who are never mad famous for what they've contributed. Their stories are like the books that collect dust on the top shelf of the library, which no one wishes to read because they are not exciting, or not dramatic enough. Though the annals of time are marked every now and then with a great landmark or achievement, usually through the actions of someone, all these people who are never famous or prominent will simply slip through the cracks of history, though their tale is the one most deserving to be told.

This is the story of one of these men; and though fictional, I hope that everyone who reads it is inspired to be the best that they can be. It is a story of how a single person really can make a difference in the world, no matter who he or she is, and that a person doesn't have to be famous or wealthy to change the lives of those around him.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Hunt Begins

Everything in the city was silent; the only sound came from the rain pouring down on the cobblestone roads. The moon had risen high into the sky; it gave an eerie light to the streets of Bhujerba. The stars were hidden by a veil of grey clouds. The Marquis's palace rose high in the distance, a pride of the sky lands. The other buildings stood tall like a wall, splitting the city into its tightly-packed streets. Targe's Arms was shut for the night, as well as the other shops and houses. All of the Sanikah, the city guards, on the night shift had already left to go home because of the storm. Besides, Bhujerba was a low-crime city; there had only been a few people arrested for crimes in the last few months. The Lhusu mines still remained a few miles away from the city. The mouth of the cave opened up wide and tall, like jaws of ominous darkness. Some feared the mines because of what lay inside; for others, it was their job to brave the dangers that lurked there every day to mine the valuable magicite; they were the backbone of the Bhujerban economy.

The streets were apparently empty. Any passerby would think that he was the only person out; they would never notice the figure that melted from shadow to shadow. Blending in with the darkness, he stepped silently from alley to alley. The pouring rain did not bother him; he had spent years in such storms. He looked like a Hume, and walked like a shade. He crouched down behind a stack of crates, and searched for that which he sought. Peering through the mist, the man saw his target in the form of a dim silhouette walking down the side of the road, clutching his coat around him tightly. He had found who he wanted; the task, however, was not done. He decided to follow him to a concealed place before striking. Muttering a few words under his breath, his royal blue eyes began to change, until the pupils were blood red. All of his surroundings dimmed into a blur, but the figure he followed was outlined in a bright red flare. Slowly, he stood up and followed it through the rain, swaying from shadow to shadow. His long brown hair was soaked; he didn't care. The outline of red stopped at the door of a small house on one of the numerous small roads in the large city. After sticking a key into the lock, he opened the door and shut it behind him. The cloaked figure crept up to the window beside the door and peeked in; when he was certain that the other man had left the room, he stood back up. He reached for the magic inside of him, felt it flow through his limbs. He began to become more and more transparent, until he might have been mistaken for a ghost. Without a second thought, he walked straight through the door.

Once he had reached the other side of the wall, the man released his spell. In a few more seconds, he was back to normal consistency. He threw back his hood, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. At first glance, one would expect him to be living in a far nicer part of the city. He had a cleanly-shaven face and very handsome features, with shoulder-length hair that was a light brown color. He wore a black cloak, with leather boots and garb that many travelers wore, which consisted of pants, an undershirt, and a tunic that went over it. Most striking were his eyes, eyes that seemed to pierce through things, whether physical objects or well-woven lies. The other noticeable feature about him was the silver ring he wore on his left index finger. He looked around the room for a few seconds. It was a simple house, with a wooden roof and walls; a much better abode than he lived in. Just as he had finished taking in the setting, his prey walked back into the room, holding a bottle in his wet hands. He dropped it when he saw the visitor; it hit the ground and shattered, sending its contents everywhere.

"Who are you…?" he asked in a terrified voice as he shrank back against the wall. A small grin formed on the hunter's face; if only you knew, he thought.

"My name is Rithil," he said, "but that is of little importance." Rithil moved forward, reaching under his raven black cloak. The man he walked towards was probably in his thirties or forties, covered in sweat and wearing tattered clothes; he obviously had a drinking problem. He leaped up and ran into the adjacent room of the house. Rithil moved up to the side of the doorway, pulling out a sword that looked as though it had clashed with other steel many times. It was a bastard sword, built for both single and double handed use. Its hilt was wrapped in dark brown leather; in the center of the hilt was a large emerald. Carefully he peeked around the corner; he quickly retracted it as he heard a distinctive click. A crossbow bolt thudded into the wall at the other end of the house. Seeing his chance, Rithil turned and rolled into the next room, throwing his cloak in front of him. The roll sent him to the right of the cloak, which distracted his target long enough. Rithil shoulder-slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. He held the sword up to his neck, letting the man feel the blade's cold steel. He was wide-eyed and shaky, and out of breath.

"Please," he said, "I've done nothing. Let me live and…and…ill give you everything I own!" Rithil gave him an emotionless expression, letting fear completely grip the man. Besides, he didn't own much of anything, or so it seemed.

"I'll let you live," he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child, "if you'll tell me what I want to know. I know that you know what I need to know, so if you will tell me what I wish to know, you will live." The man gave Rithil a completely confused expression; Rithil had to try as hard as he could not to burst out laughing.

"You've had dealings with the Thieves' Guild, have you not?" The man hesitated for a moment, obviously not wanting to reveal anything about the Guild, for that was punishable by death. Rithil pressed his sword a little closer, even allowing a drop of blood to drip from a small cut. The man shuddered as the blood mingled with the layer of sweat and dirt on his skin.

"Yes! Yes I have," said the terrified man. Rithil nodded; he already knew this much.

"And you have bartered with them, have you not?" he asked again. The man nodded and pointed to a piece of wood in the wall. It appeared normal, but Rithil knew better than to trust what lay on the surface.

"Where is their hideout?" Rithil pressed. The man whimpered, realizing that death came either way. If he didn't tell Rithil, he would die. If he ratted on the Guild, he would die. Not wanting to push Rithil, he sighed and began explaining.

"Most of it is underground," he explained in a soft voice, "There's a house on Cloudborne Row. Used to be owned by the Kitral family, until they were all killed in the War against Archadia. It's supposedly been abandoned for years, but it isn't. That house is like the tip of the iceberg that leads to the rest of the base. There's a huge dragon on the gate to the house. You can't miss it. But," he said with a smirk, "you'll die before you even get past the front door." Rithil released the man; he had all the information he needed. The ragged man crawled to the other end of the room, heading for a closet.

"Pull a weapon on me and you will be dead before you can draw a bead on me." said Rithil calmly. The man stopped moving and stood up shakily, obediently keeping his hands at his sides. Rithil walked over to the wall the man had pointed to and ran his hand along the planks. As he suspected, one of them didn't quite fit in with the others. With one swift move, Rithil flipped his sword in his hand and rammed in in-between the two planks with perfect accuracy. With a simple push, the plank popped out, revealing a stash that made Rithil's eyes widen a bit. There lay several valuable weapons, some even magically enchanted, as well as shields and various bows and armor pieces. Rithil turned and looked the smuggler in the eye. Deftly, he grabbed a finely crafted longbow, and a quiver of arrows.

"I'll be taking this." he said simply. The smuggler winced, but said nothing; it was one of his most valuable items. Rithil walked to the back door of the shack and opened the door.

"If I were you," he said before leaving, "I would lock my doors and prepare some of those weapons for use. The Guild will not appreciate having their leader killed because you told them out." He slammed the door behind him as he walked back out onto the street; the smuggler sighed and grabbed another bottle of booze. If he was going to die, he would at least go to the underworld obliviously.

Rithil returned to the streets, melding once again with the darkness. The rain had lifted up; it was only a light drizzle now. Seeing a ladder propped against the back wall of a nearby house, he decided to climb to the roof to get a better view. The moonlight lit up the mist from the rain, creating an eerie shroud of mist. Activating his spell once again, his blue eyes turned blood red. His surroundings became blurry, but those objects that he wished to see became distinct and clear. He searched the horizon for any buildings similar to the one described to him. After scanning the horizon thoroughly, one building caught his attention. It sat on Cloudborne Row, not too far from the tavern the street was named after. Though the windows were boarded up, Rithil could see dark figures moving around inside. Above the cast iron gate was a huge crest of a dragon; that must be the one. Leaping gently off the roof, he landed on the stone with a soft click of his boots. It was time for payback, he thought to himself.

"It's too bad," said Ralis, as he wiped off his blade, "He was one of our best contacts." His partner, Belthien gave him an angry look from his deep eyes. The corpse of the man that Rithil had just interrogated lay against a corner of the room, still clutching at his stomach. They were a deadly team, though they couldn't be more different. Ralis had blonde hair that came down to his shoulders, while Belthien had brown hair that he kept in a buzz cut. Ralis had striking green eyes, while Belthien had deep-set brown eyes. Ralis was ruthless; he loved killing just for the "sport", as he called it. He had an assortment of poisons and tricks that he used on his victims and many caused a slow, painful death. Belthien was not cruel; he finished a kill quickly and painlessly. He preferred to attack stealthily, not to let his enemies know his location at all. He hated Ralis deeply, but he knew that he was the weaker of the two; if he ever tried to leave Ralis, he would probably end up dead.

"Let's just finish this quickly." said Belthien. "You go after the assassin, and I'll go tell Adémar what has happened here." Ralis smirked; that worked for him. He wanted to have a good fight before the night was over.

"Fine," he said, "I'll be sure to have fun, since you won't be around." Belthien just grunted and leaped up onto the roof from outside. Ralis walked out the back door, following the barely noticeable trail that Rithil had left behind him. Though any normal eye would not have even thought that someone had been there, the signs stuck out like a sore thumb to Ralis. Ralis could tell that he was a decent tracker; now he hoped that the man would at least put up a decent fight.

Rithil moved quietly along the rooftops from street to street. After several minutes, he could see the Cloudborne clearly; it was always open for business. He heard a soft noise behind him; though faint, he knew it to be the sound of a foot moving along the street. Was he being followed? Just to be safe, he leapt down from the roof and quietly approached the Cloudborne. It would be easy to lose any pursuers in the large bar.

The bar was busy, even in the middle of the night. Waitresses walked around with food and ale, serving the various patrons. A small band was playing off in a corner of the room with acoustic guitars; they were playing a soft but mellow tune. Rithil quietly moved over to a corner table and pulled his hood over his head. Hopefully the shadows in the corner would keep him disguised; he eyed his surroundings warily. No one appeared to be looking at him at all; he relaxed a little bit. The architecture of the Cloudborne resembled the buildings in Rozarria, his home kingdom. Rithil could still feel his heart beating fast, though he was calm mentally. Reaching into a pouch, he pulled out a thin, wooden pipe. It had intricate carvings of battle along the stem, coming to a wide, sweeping bowl at the tip. He didn't smoke often, only when he needed to think; now, he figured, was a good time to take a short break from his journey. Rithil exhaled one or two rings of smoke, leaving a small cloud in front of him. It was a strategic way to make him harder to notice. Rithil also liked the aroma of the various plants he occasionally found in the Wild.

The sound of the doors swinging open caught his attention. A man dressed much like him approached the bar; he had blonde hair and wore a charming smile. He saw the man ask the bartender something as he took a sip of the wine that was handed to him. When the bartender shrugged, he thanked him and returned to his drink. Rithil eyed him suspiciously, but was careful not to draw attention to himself. Rithil could see at first glance that the man was not friendly; he was almost acting too friendly, especially for a 'weary traveler' arriving at near midnight. Perhaps that was the man who had been trailing him, if indeed he was being trailed. A sudden eruption of noise brought his attention to another area of the bar before he could contemplate further.

"Leave me alone!" yelled the young barmaid, slapping one of the men. The rest of his group laughed as the man tumbled over onto the floor. He shot a murderous glance at her from the floor.

"Come on, missie," said one of the drunks, "we can give you a good time! We're not that bad." As he reached forward to grab her, she crashed an empty mug over his hand. The man let out a yell of pain as his hand began to flow red from the numerous cuts on his fingers. He clutched it, but the pain didn't properly register because of the alcohol.

"You little…!" another yelled. That one came forward in a full swing; the girl gave a yelp of fear. She tried to dodge out of the way, but it was coming too fast; she shut her eyes, waiting for the pain to come. A gloved hand intercepted the fist and threw his arm out wide, putting him off-balance. Rithil brought his other hand flying deep into the man's gut. The thug's eyes widened; he buckled to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Leave her alone, all of you." said Rithil, with a threatening voice. His eyes narrowed, making sure they knew the punishment for disobedience would be. Rithil hated people like this; he hated the idea of preying on the weak, but moreso, that no one else had come to the girl's aid before things had gotten out of hand. What cowards so many people had become, he thought.

"Or what?" asked one of the group mockingly. In unison, they all pulled out crude weapons; most of them were just iron rods or daggers.

"Or I will break each of your hands, so that you can't hold a mug of anything for the next several months." said Rithil, dead serious. The group just laughed and surrounded him in a complete circle. The leader stepped forward and pointed his wooden pole at Rithil.

"Not many people have threatened us before," he said, "None who did ever walked away." Rithil just crossed his arms with a scowl of contempt.

"Who do you think you are?" he asked.

"We," said the leader, "are the Hellhounds, the most notorious gang in Bhujerba!" Rithil hated gangs; they were nothing more than packs of bullies and scum.

"So let me understand this," said Rithil, "You think that you are such a powerful group, yet all you can find to do is try to take advantage of young girls? Get out of here, and never come back, before I throw your broken bodies out of here." The leader went into a rage when Rithil said this.

"You... You! I guess you want to see the Condemner early or something!" he exclaimed.

"Make sure he feels so much pain he wishes he was dead!" he yelled. Like a pack of hungry wolves the drunken gang ran at Rithil. By now most of the Cloudborne's residents were watching the scene unfold. The band in the corner of the room began playing a lively dance tune, as if it they wanted to add to the fight. He reached behind him and pulled out his trusty hand-and-a-half. He didn't want to kill any of them, just make sure they wouldn't cause any trouble for quite a while. The first man to reach him was a stocky, sweaty man with an iron rod about two feet long. Rithil saw his downward swing coming, and easily sidestepped it. Before the fat man could retract the rod, Rithil brought his sword's hilt down on the man's hand; there was a sickening crack of bone as his fingers twisted into strange positions. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching at his hand. Rithil heard more feet coming at him from behind. He dropped to his knees as a bar stool brushed the top of his hair. Rithil turned and swept the assailant off his feet with his leg, sending him to the ground with a hard _thud_. His nose was then broken by Rithil's foot. Rithil turned to face his next attacker, and crouched onto one knee. He used the powerful muscled in his legs to spring him off the ground. He brought his knee up under the chin of the closest drunk. The man's head snapped backwards, sending him to the floor along with the other two men.

Ralis watched the fight closely. He couldn't wait for a chance to fight this man; he was so strong, he was sure to give Ralis a fight he hadn't had in a year. With a single swig, he finished off the rest of his glass. Quietly he got up and moved closer to the fight; by now the rest of the group were backing up more than moving forward. Ralis walked over to the waitress that had just been harassed.

"A real knight isn't he?" he asked. She jumped when she saw him right next to her.

"Y-yes," she said, "I thought I was done for back there." She smiled as she watched the gang backing off; Ralis leaned a little closer.

"Do you know who he is?" he said quietly. It would be much better if he knew the identity of his target. Besides, Ralis could always use another excuse to converse with beautiful girls.

"No," she said, "I didn't even know he was here, until he got into the fight. I haven't ever seen someone who can fight like this." Ralis thanked her, chuckling at the irony of what the girl had said, and returned to his original position, waiting for the outcome of the brawl. He already knew who was going to win; this Rithil was obviously a veteran fighter. Judging from his attire, he also appeared well-suited to a life of wandering.

Rithil stood in the center of the pile of bodies that had accumulated. The few men that were left had decided that it would be a bad idea to attack him.

"Get out of here," said Rithil, "And take your friends with you." They hurriedly complied, carrying the rest of their moaning or unconscious comrades. Rithil cursed his stupidity when he saw that all eyes in the building were on him. He had done just what he didn't want to do. The blonde-haired man he had seen earlier stood up from his seat.

"All right, everyone," he said, "Looks like there's nothing else to see here, so you can go back to your business, or your drinks." He walked up openly to Rithil, and extended his hand.

"Good work back there," he said, "let me buy you a drink." Rithil knew it would be even worse to refuse the offer, so he took a seat with the man at the corner table.

"So who are you?" asked Rithil casually.

"My name," answered the other, "is Ralis. I admire men like you, who fight for their own set of morals. I have a very unique set of them myself. May I ask your own name?" he asked. The waitress walked up with two mugs of ale on a tray. Rithil started to reach into his pocket, but the waitress interrupted him.

"Please," she said, "this is on the house. It's the least I can do in return." Rithil looked at her for a moment, reached into his pocket, and tossed several coins at her.

"I was just doing what I knew should be done. There is no need for thanks." The girl smiled warmly and gave him a peck on the cheek before walking off. Ralis broke out laughing at the spectacle; what a noble man this was.

"I don't think I could have done better myself," said Ralis, "You certainly are chivalrous. Or maybe you're just really good at both fighting and sweet-talking." Rithil gave a small smile at the remark.

"I just do what I feel is right." Ralis was already thinking of a way to ensnare him.

"Either way, I commend you on your actions. I would have joined as well, but I figured that I would only be in the way. Besides, it only took you but two minutes to finish off most of them." Rithil nodded; it was nice to know there was at least another decently courageous person here. They both sat there in silence, sizing each other up. Ralis's smile told Rithil that the charade was over; it was time to see who Ralis really was.

"So, say," began Ralis, leaning forward, "That all of these people were in danger. Would you fight to save them?" Rithil looked at him suspiciously.

"Are they?" asked Rithil. With a grin, Ralis reached into his cloak and pulled out a small metal ball that fit in his hand. It had a small hole in the top with a wick poking out.

"A hand-bomb." said Ralis. "Not too powerful. If it went off right here, only you and I would be obliterated. However, say that right now I was to throw it at one of those support beams….." He let Rithil figure out the implications of that himself. Rithil's eyes narrowed; of course, he had been a fake all along. This made the second time he had fallen for such a trap; he felt stupid for not seeing it.

"What do you want from me?" asked Rithil. Ralis gave him a look that made him want to shudder.

"A fight, that's all I want. Just come out back whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting in the alley to the right of this building; just me, no tricks." He returned the grenade to his pouch, and stood up. Pulling his hood over his head, Ralis walked back out of the Cloudborne and disappeared. Rithil knew that the other man wasn't bluffing.

Rithil returned to the rain, pulling his cloak tighter against him to fight off the wind. He turned and walked into the alley beside the Cloudborne, preparing for any trap. He couldn't trust the man who threatened him; he was obviously an assassin. Not a thug, he was much too sophisticated for that; he was a professional killer. He reached the intersection of the four alleys, and stopped as he looked for the assassin. Hearing footsteps to his right, he turned and drew his sword. Ralis stood there, with a satisfied look in his emerald eyes. They reminded Rithil of the eyes of the wolf as it circled its prey.

"I knew you'd come. You're too noble to let so many innocent people die." he said with a smirk. Rithil turned to face him, sword raised, ready for any attack.

"Please," said Ralis, "I want a good fight. You can't freak out on me yet." Reaching behind him, he pulled out two blades that he held strangely. The blades, when held correctly, extended down his forearm to come to a sharp tip at his upper arm. Rithil had heard of these weapons; they were called elbow blades, or Kamas. Ralis walked with an air of calm skill. The very way he stepped told Rithil that the assassin was no amateur fighter. He moved his footing into the Karo Gatsen, a stance that allowed him to block almost any attack with stunning speed, even if it left little room for offense. Rithil saw in Ralis's eyes a bloodlust he'd never seen in a human before. With a grin, he suddenly ran at Rithil with speed that almost surpassed his own. Rithil was ready; as the first Kama came slashing in, he caught the blade and threw it wide. Ralis, without missing a beat, rotated the second Kama around so that the point faced Rithil, sending it flying in. Rithil managed to get his sword up to block, but it still grazed his hair. A close call, but Rithil had been through many of those. In a counterattack, Rithil flipped his sword in his hand and bashed Ralis in the sternum with the pommel of the sword. Ralis staggered away, gasping for breath as he clutched his chest.

"Not bad. You're better than I thought. But," he said, giving Rithil a psychotic glare, "I'm just beginning to have fun. You won't walk out of here alive. And you will have wished that you were dead before I finish." Ralis came in again, holding both blades out in front of him; Rithil shifted from his defensive stance, changing his weight slightly. Ralis came in fast, swinging his elbow blades furiously. Rithil kept them at a distance, but was backing up. He had already suffered several small nicks from where Ralis's blades had come just a little too close. Realizing that he had to do something, Rithil ducked under the coming swing. It was a risky gambit, but it paid off; the Kama flew right above his head. Within a second, he drew the knife he kept hidden in his boot and shoved it deep into Ralis's calf. Ralis backed away with a scream of pain; he fell to one knee, clutching at his leg.

"Damn you," he muttered. With a yell, he ripped out the knife. "Looks like I have to get serious now." His eyes had changed; they held none of the humor that he had before. They were now completely inhuman, hollow orbs of hatred. Ralis pulled out three shuriken from ether side of his cloak. With a grin, he threw them all at the same time; Rithil would have dodged, but they all flew out wide.

Rithil figured that the pain Ralis was in was hurting his concentration, causing the shuriken to miss. Ralis's expression told him otherwise; as he pulled back his hands, the shuriken came flying back in front of Rithil. They flew circles around him, never once touching him. Feeling something brush against his arm, Rithil tried to escape it, but it kept pushing against him. Ralis tightened his hands into fists and pulled back one last time. Rithil suddenly felt like he was paralyzed; he couldn't move his arms or legs. His eyes widened in shock as he saw what had happened.

"You like it?" asked Ralis with a chuckle. Rithil saw thin strands of wire wrapped around him; the shuriken weren't to kill him, simply to trap him. He glared at Ralis.

"That was clever," he said. "You're definitely good." He needed to bluff for time; he had no alternative.

"It's been fun, really" said Ralis, "I haven't had this much fun in quite a while. I'm afraid I need to get back home, however. Now…… DIE!" he yelled, coming at Rithil with his Kamas. Rithil knew he couldn't die here; he hadn't found her yet. He heard the voice inside of his head, calling to him. "You promised…" it said faintly. Rithil felt a burst of strength come to him; he gave Ralis a furious glare that made even the ruthless killer stop in his tracks. Calling forth the magic inside of him, Rithil concentrated the energy around him. As Ralis brought his Kama forward, a blinding flash of light stopped him cold. When his vision returned, he saw Rithil standing with his sword in hand. The look in his eyes told Ralis that he had lost the fight.

"You're the one who's going to die." he said. Ralis chuckled to himself; He had underestimated this man. This Rithil character was definitely one of a kind.

"Not yet! I have plenty of other things I want to do. Our final duel will have to be postponed!" He began to fade out, and in a few seconds there was nothing but a transparent mist left where he had been standing. Rithil could see the underlying rage in his eyes as he disappeared. Rithil sheathed his sword, glad that he had won, but disturbed at the appearance of this new enemy. Was he working for the Guild, perhaps? Knowing that he had no time to ponder the situation, Rithil pulled his cloak tighter as he walked down the alley, back towards the old Kitral mansion. They knew he was here now; he would have to be careful if he was to maintain the element of surprise.

Belthien stood in the large subterranean complex that served as Adémar's headquarters. The man was not like most lords that controlled such guilds. Many were fat and adorned with fortunes of jewelry. Adémar was no such man; he despised those who indulged themselves in such pleasures. He was tall and slender, but not emaciated by any means. He wore a simple robe, tied with a leather belt; the only jewelry he wore was his earrings. His short black hair revealed his dark, blue eyes.

"So," he said thoughtfully, "there is a man after us, for reasons we are unaware of." Belthien nodded in concurrence.

"Do you have any idea who he is?" asked Adémar. Belthien shook his head; he didn't know, but he expected that Ralis would return soon. Ralis would either have his head or his body with him; either way, he would know who had been after him. As much as he hated Ralis, he never once denied that the man was an indispensable asset to any guild. Adémar had one of the most well-trained and capable forces in the city of Bhujerba; they far surpassed the city's armies. Belthien sometimes wondered if Adémar had ever thought of taking this peaceful city over. The man was often lost in thought, or discussing some trade pact with a shady ally. Adémar never let his emotions show, which made him a formidable man to deal with. Belthien knew that if he wanted to, Adémar could in charge of far greater things than a Thieves' Guild.

Before the words came out of Belthien's mouth, a mist began forming in-between him and Adémar; Ralis's timing had been perfect. To Belthien's surprise, though, Ralis wore an expression of pain on his face, not his usual smug smile of victory.

"That guy is good." he said disgustedly. "His name is Rithil, and he's one hell of a fighter." The other two men were shocked; any man who could defeat Ralis was worthy of a great deal of respect. "He's still coming here; I'm out of the fight for now, so it looks like it's up to you, partner. Be careful; he has some nasty tricks." Ralis hobbled off, finding a bandage for his leg. Belthien nodded and headed for his room to prepare for the coming battle. He usually spent several hours there meditating before he went on a mission or before a fight; it calmed his thoughts. If Ralis was beaten, he doubted that he could win. Adémar showed little alarm that Ralis had lost against the Rithil; he just maintained his gaze off in the distance.

"Rithil…….. Have I heard that name before?" wondered Adémar thoughtfully. "Ralis!" he yelled after the assassin, "gather all of my mercenaries in here. Tell the other guards to keep an eye open for him. I want everyone to be ready to act if they hear so much as a mouse moving around." Ralis just grunted and walked on, mumbling and cursing to himself.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Ray of Hope

Rithil crept across the rooftops of Cloudborne Row, keeping the mansion in sight at all times. Fortunately, most of the roofs had shingles, which made it easy for him to step lightly sand silently across them. As he activated his vision spell again, the red figures moving in and on top of the house became visible. They were somewhat blurry because of the cloaks that most of them wore, but it was enough for Rithil to discern their routes of patrol. He had expected that they would have such magical attire to shield them from prying eyes. Many were equipped with bows, weapons that they were no doubt very accurate with. Rithil wondered why the Bhujerban army had never cracked down on this place. Perhaps they weren't powerful enough to; the sky city's military power had never been that great. Silently, he dropped from the rooftop and behind a stack of crates; he was about 100 yards from the gate that led to the courtyard. Rithil used his cloak to shield him from sight as he moved to the fence at the border of the large house and crouched behind a tree. In the split second when all the sentinels were turned away from him, he ran to the nearest bush in the front yard. Two cloaked figures lurked behind the front windows, overlooking the porch and yard. Rithil knew that he couldn't get in through the front; he couldn't move back either. He realized that he had to use a teleportation spell, even though it would take a good bit of energy. Summoning the magic inside of him, Rithil felt himself dissipating into nothing. It was a strange feeling to see yourself disappearing, but one that he was used to; as he dissolved, his vision went black. When things began to take shape again, he could discern that he had landed exactly where he had wanted to. He was concealed in the shadows, but about three yards away; in front of him, was the guard standing at the window. No one heard a sound as Rithil's knife slid into his back. Lowering the body down into the shadows where he had stood moments earlier, Rithil stalked off down the hallway like a ghost. He felt like he had been walking for an hour after teleporting, but he had plenty of energy left to spare; Plenty of strength to get his revenge.

Adémar paced carefully around the large room that served as his "throne room." Upon first glance, it seemed like a simple place, with thick stone walls and a crimson carpet adorning the floor. There was a chair with golden tendrils snaking across and over it in the center; that was Adémar's only sign of wealth. If one looked closer, however, they could see the holes in the brick here and there. Adémar was lost in thought, trying to figure out who was apparently out to take his organization down. Had the Bhujerban government finally had enough of the guild, or was it just a hired killer? Adémar figured that it had something to do with the events several years ago that made them such a notorious and feared guild. Whoever it was, he was curious to find out; Adémar very much wanted to meet him.

"Belthien," he said, "Go. Bring him back here alive, if you can." Belthien just nodded and faded into the darkness.

Rithil needed to find a way into the underground maze of the hideout. Using a slight alteration of his vision spell, he switched to thermal vision. On the ground, footprints became distinct; the heat hadn't faded completely. They led in all directions, but one caught Rithil's attention. They came to a sudden halt in the middle of a storage room, and the trail ended there. Or did it? Wondered Rithil. Lightly tapping his hand on the floor where the steps ended, he found that it made a hollow noise. He moved his hand on the dusty planks, searching for the ridge that marked the trap door. The handle of the door had to be cloaked with magic; otherwise the hand print would have shown up. He didn't have much time; sooner or later he would be found out. After a few seconds he felt his hand pass over the slightest indent in the wood. As he followed it, he found that the handle fit in perfectly with the wood. He began to open it, but realized it would probably make a good bit of noise, or trigger an alarm. Calling forth his magic, he turned ethereal and floated down through the door.

As he turned back into his real form, he felt slight fatigue. Rithil had used up a good amount of his magic; that wasn't good. He knew that there would be difficult fights ahead, and he needed all the strength he could get. Dusting off his cloak, he continued carefully down the black hallway.

Belthien heard Rithil's footsteps echoing down the hallway. A normal man couldn't have heard them, but he had developed exceptional hearing over the years of his stealth training. Pulling four long, thin kunai out of their holsters, he waited for the opportune moment as he hid in a small cove in the wall. This was his moment do what Ralis had failed to do, he thought. If he could become better than Ralis, he would kill him, he thought to himself. Men like him should not be allowed to stay at large, killing for their own amusement. Until then, he just had to live with Ralis as best he could.

Rithil felt a trap coming before he even reached Belthien's range of attack. He switched to his thermal vision silently; just as he had thought, a figure crouched far down the hall in an alcove, waiting for him. Rithil continued to walk as if he sensed nothing; he waited for the strike. It would take instant reaction to counter whatever was in store; it was a trick Rithil had perfected. His senses were heightened because of the pitch black darkness; his own heart seemed to beat as loud as a drum. He heard a faint swish as the knives left Belthien's hand and headed right for him. They were well thrown; they were placed so that no matter where he moved, he would be hit in a vital area. This was unexpected for Rithil; the guild had quite a few expert mercenaries, it seemed. Using his only option left, he drew his sword. He called upon the skills he had perfected years ago; the ability to fuse his magic and strength to perform otherwise humanly impossible feats. "Slow!" he yelled. Around him, things began to lag. The knives slowed till they were moving so lethargically that Rithil could have walked over and picked it up from the air. Running forward, he easily sidestepped the knives flowing gently through the air. He ran until he was directly in front of the man, who he figured was with Ralis. De-activating the spell, he looked the man in the eye, watching them widen in shock. He slammed him against the wall with his shoulder, then grabbed his throat and held him to the wall. Belthien gasped for breath as he tried to figure out what had happened. Rithil glared at him with an unflinching gaze. Belthien felt a sharp pain seize the side of his neck; then it went numb. He felt his whole body tingle and go numb; blackness swelled in front of his eyes. Rithil dropped him to the ground unceremoniously. Without another word, he continued down the hallway; he was getting closer; he could feel it.

Adémar sat quietly in his throne, pondering the many things that had now risen to his attention. He recalled the things he and his guild had done; many of them he was far from proud of. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember any of the faces. He could picture a few, but they were like distant figures; they were blurred in his head. He remembered flames, and the smell of blood and battle. He was disturbed, though he couldn't let it show. There had been no word from Belthien yet, not a single hint that he had won. The implications were obvious; if this man had enough strength to defeat Ralis, sneak into the mansion, then defeat Belthien right after, the Guild was in trouble.

As if a conclusion of his suspicions, the large double doors at the entrance of the room smashed open. There stood Rithil, cloaked in black, sword sheathed, but ready to draw it at any moment. Adémar felt a twinge of fear at seeing the imposing figure, but he fought it back. He knew that there were at least a dozen bows guarding him; each was trained on Rithil's chest or head. With a nod of his head, he could let them all loose; it could be over in a second. He was curious, though; he wanted to know who this was. Rithil wouldn't attack, he knew; it would be his own death if he did.

"Why have you come here?' asked Adémar. Rithil walked slowly to the center of the room, arms crossed unthreateningly.

"I have come for what is mine." he said simply.

"What might that be?" asked Adémar, amused at his obscurity.

"The question is not what," said Rithil coldly, "But whom." He eyed Adémar with an emotionless face. "Think back, Adémar. It was six years ago; you know what I speak of. You and your gang raided my town; I remember it clearly." He took another step forward, anger growing inside of him. Adémar felt a drop of cold sweat run down his face. He knew this man, though he couldn't place him now. Rithil was now within striking range; he could have leaped forward and impaled Adémar if he wished. Why did he not strike? Wondered the guild leader. Rithil just stood like a statue, unmoving, unflinching. Then Adémar saw what he was doing; though Rithil's eyes were open, they were glancing around the room. He was trying to find all the hidden crevices and arrow slits in the room.

Adémar didn't want to risk it further; Rithil had moved dangerously close. He gave the nod of his head; at that second, fifteen arrows flew at Rithil with pinpoint accuracy. It was over for him, knew Adémar.

Rithil called upon the last of his reservoir of magic that he had saved for just this occasion. His eyes burned with an inner fire; they were blood red, illuminating the room. His voice echoed around the subterranean passage as it grew deeper. "Firaga!" he yelled. At the speaking of the word, a ring of fire shot up around him, so hot that Adémar shielded his face from the heat. Rithil levitated into the air slowly; his eyes had been completely consumed by a demonic glow. Without flinching at the oncoming arrows, Rithil extended his hands. Orbs of flame shot out from his palms, consuming the arrows, as well as the men in the hidden alcoves. Screams erupted from all around him; the entire cavern glowed red and orange. The smell of burnt flesh clung began to permeate the air. "Slow!" he yelled again, calling forth the spell. Before Adémar had time to blink, Rithil stood right in front of him, murder in his eyes.

"What do you want from me!?" quivered Adémar. He had lost all semblances of his usual calmness. As Rithil's eyes returned to their characteristic blue, the flames died down around them. The room was filled with smoke that made Adémar's eyes sting. Rithil pointed his sword at Adémar's throat.

"I want her." said Rithil simply. Adémar felt a shiver run through his spine. He remembered it all now; the face had changed, but his eyes were the same. Those piercing, deep blue eyes that he saw before him now were the same he had seen six years ago. Adémar remembered the flames that had surrounded them, and the rage in Rithil's eyes. Back then, tears were streaming down from them; now, flames of revenge burned in them. "You took her from me." said Rithil as tears began to roll down his eyes once again; he had searched so long for a clue that could lead him to her, and now he had found it. Now tell me what happened to her!" he yelled. Adémar sighed deeply; he understood now. What goes around comes around, they say; the demons of his past had returned to haunt him, as he had feared would happen for years after the incident. He let out a long sigh, reminding himself again that he had all this coming fro quite a while.

"There are things that a man does," said Adémar, "that he regrets for the rest of his life." Rithil was caught off-guard by this remark; he had been expecting some malicious threat. "You are one of them," continued Adémar. "Your eyes have haunted me ever since then." Though still suspicious of treachery, Rithil backed away a step and let Adémar to his feet. As he stood up, he brushed off his robe and regained his composure. "As for your girl, she is no longer here. We sold all of those we captured long ago; I am sorry. We sold them to members of the Archadian senate about three years ago."

"What did the senate members want her for?" asked Rithil. Adémar sighed deeply.

"I am not sure," he said, "though if I was to venture a guess... well it should be obvious enough to you." Rithil was furious; he could not stand the thought of her being reduced to that level.

"Why did you do that?" he asked in anger. "I know that you could have guessed that on your own; have you no morals?" Adémar fell back into his throne, obviously grieved.

"My group of men needed money badly; they were almost starving from hunger. I knew that a group of hostages would bring a fair price in a guild like the Thieves' Guild. That was our plan, to take them there." Adémar paused for a moment, as if to replay the events over in his head. "However, I knew we could neither afford to go there, or survive long enough anyways. Fortunately, an agent of the Guild found us first; he brought us to this Sky City. As I suspected, we were paid well, and we lived well for a good while."

"Only a monster would do something like that, whatever the reason." said Rithil unflinchingly. Adémar nodded in agreement.

"I regretted that act ever since then. I ruined lives, and for what? To be the leader of a guild of liars and rogues. It seems such a large price to pay for something so unimportant; and look at me now anyways. My guild is broken down because of those same acts. I suppose it is only a fair price to pay." Rithil tried hard to see what was going on inside of Adémar's mind and heart; was he bluffing, or was he truly repenting? He was too weary to use any more magic on a mind probe; all he could use was his own mind.

"I suppose you have to kill me now; please, make it painless." said Adémar. Rithil, deciding to give Adémar the benefit of the doubt, didn't kill him, but slowly sheathed his sword. The pair of men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. More was exchanged between them there than could have been said in an hour.

"I wish I could have taken this all back," said Adémar wistfully, "but the past is the past. And no matter how I wish to change it, it cannot be undone. I hope that you find this girl you are searching for, wherever she may be." Rithil nodded in appreciation; odd, he thought, that he was so sure of his revenge before he got here, and now he was sympathizing with the man who took his life away from him. Life could be a strange thing sometimes. Adémar walked to the edge of the room's brick wall and pushed in a seemingly normal brick. Rithil heard a loud grating noise as a secret door slowly opened itself, revealing a long, dark passageway that extended into the distance.

"Take it." he said. "It will leave you on the other side of the mansion, several streets away." Rithil nodded and, without wasting time, walked into the corridor, activating his vision spell to see in the pitch darkness. The search was still on, and he could not quit until he had succeeded.

"Thank you." said Adémar quietly as he walked away. For the first time in six years, a smile of content formed on his face. Now he could at least go to prison in peace.

The mason towers of the great, ancient structure loomed high; seemingly up to the clouds they rose, with an imposing air of sovereignty over the woods it had come to call home. The cold gray stone that formed its thick walls and keeps were moist with the dew of the night, giving them a glossy shine in the pale moonlight. The shingles that served as the roofs of the castle has worn down until they were simply thin plates of clay; some were missing entirely. Vines had grown up along much of the sides, camouflaging it with the trees around it.

"Well," said Cairan, "It looks a little shabby, but it will suit our purposes just fine." Harephane nodded; it was nicely secluded, wherever it was. Isolation was the main requirement for their potential hideout.

"It will work. Just have to fix the roof up." While the wizard gazed into his globe attentively, his partner reclined lazily on the other end of the couch they were sitting on. Seeing a stewardess coming, he whispered, "You'd better put that disc away, though." said Harephane. Cairan nodded and removed his hand from over the scrying disc; the image of the castle dissipated into nothing as he placed it back in the pouch of his robe. The wizard had always had a strange obsession with magical trinkets like that; sometimes it frustrated Harephane to no end. It was really getting on his nerves after traveling on the same ship with him for hours on end. The airship was a nice one, undoubtedly, but Harephane didn't like flying; he'd only gone on the trip because it was necessary for the both of them. Cairan wasn't helping his mood any either.

"Just keep your mind on our objective." said Harephane. Cairan shot him a glare from behind his superfluous, black hair.

"I know perfectly well our objective." he said with slight offense in his voice. "Why do you think I was searching for a suitable headquarters just now?"

"I know, I know." said Harephane. "But you know that we're not supposed to carry things like that on this airship. I don't care if you bring them or not, but keep them hidden. Otherwise we get arrested as soon as we land, and that would put a bit of a dent in our plans, I think." Cairan just mumbled something about how Harephane didn't understand and walked off. Harephane rolled his eyes and went back to sleep, letting the loud noise of the rest of the passengers turn into one general buzz.

Harephane had returned to his cabin after he had woken up from his nap. Cairan wasn't there; he was probably off inspecting the ship, learning about how it ran and operated. Harephane found that he had grown quite bored with this life; his sword had not had blood on it in several months. He was almost afraid that his blade would rust from the lack of use. He headed for the observatory deck to catch his breath; he found the room far too cramped for his tastes. His old warrior spirit longed for wide, open terrain, where he could be at peace.

The two men were quite an odd partnership, thought Harephane as he walked up the wooden stairs to the top deck of the airship. Cairan was a magician, and a skilled one at that. His young years often led him to think irrationally and hastily. Odd as he was, Harephane could see that he was extremely brilliant, and a clever tactician. Harephane even envied his black hair sometimes, as his own brown hair was beginning to show several streaks of gray in it. Though he was only thirty-three, years of battle and blood had taken its toll on him. He had found Cairan wandering the streets of Nalbina in a crazed stupor several years ago, when he was still working as a fighter-for-hire. Cairan had talked about a new era and the coming of the gods; Harephane had knocked him unconscious and dragged him from the road to keep him from being trampled by the horses that constantly traveled over them. Things began to grow from there as the two of them became friends. As it turned out, Cairan was not suffering from divine visions the day they had met, but was just drunk.

"How did I end up here?" wondered Harephane aloud. He laughed as he remembered what Cairan had said to him the last time he asked that.

"What do you think?" Cairan had said, "We're all destined to go somewhere in life. I couldn't care less how I got to where I am now; as long as I'm going to somewhere nice after this life, it doesn't matter." However they had arrived here, Harephane was anxious to begin the next stage of their plan.

"Well," said Cairan, walking up behind Harephane, "We're almost there. You'd better go pack your things, because I want to be the first off the ship. This 'no magic' rule is driving me insane." Harephane just grunted and walked back off to his cabin. Cairan followed closely behind, nearly tripping over his robe as he walked back down the stairs.

"Cairan," said Harephane, "You should really get some new clothes to wear, I can't stand those robes."

"I might," said Cairan with a grin, "but there's more to these silly robes than you know."

"I'm sure there is," replied Harephane, "But if you can't even walk in them, what's the point?" Cairan just shot him yet another glare from under his hair and kept walking. The corridors were busy with passengers moving in and out and packing their things; it irritated the two travelers.

"Can't they just find a better place to get in the way?" muttered Cairan. Harephane sighed.

"You have no patience whatsoever." he said. Cairan shot him another of his common offended glances at Harephane.

"Let's just get out of here, and back onto good, dry land." he said. Harephane nodded; he had no arguments there.


End file.
